


Rougher Trade

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bratting, Established Relationship, Flirting, Foreplay, Incest, M/M, Rentboys, Sex Work, Sibling Incest, Teasing, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5510642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless spot of teasing pre-porn with rentboy Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rougher Trade

**Author's Note:**

> This (was) one of the top five votes on my [Fic Poll](http://www.poll-maker.com/poll408430x67704433-16), which continues to be open if you'd like to request any particular porn or plot out of my existing bunnies. I'll probably put the newer bunnies in a separate poll soon.

Sherlock's been turning tricks out of the same gay club for six months when the man first approaches him. It’s not the first time he’s _seen_  Sherlock, flirting with customers or even taking them around back, but it’s the first time he’s said anything about it. First time he’s stayed to watch, too. Normally the posh totty disappears as soon as things get heated with a john, prim mouth twisting into a moue of disgust or something very like it. But he does come back. They have history, the man and Sherlock. It’s only a matter of time until he finishes a blowjob, the john tucks twenty quid into the back pocket of Sherlock’s very tight jeans, and Sherlock turns around only to be met with a resounding slap across the face. The familiar man in a bespoke Savile Row number glances over Sherlock’s shoulder with a hard look and he hears the john scatter. It’s not worth getting involved in a nameless twink’s business, of course. Sherlock doesn’t fault him.

He meets the man’s eyes dead on, cheek stinging. For someone who doesn’t believe in legwork, he still has the ability to put force into his swing. _We’ve talked about this,_ his judgmental expression says. _Members of our class don’t debase themselves like… this_. But it also says other things, and it gives Sherlock an idea, one steeped in their particular _history_.

“Do that again,” he threatens, stepping confidently into the man’s personal space, and then turns menacingly seductive, quirking his lips as he brushes them over his brother’s ear. “…and I’ll give you a discount."

Mycroft doesn’t react in a way that would be noticeable to anyone else, but his hitched breath is loud in Sherlock’s ear. He knows Mycroft's every tell. “Still playing with fire, I see,” is the response, the tone cold and measured. 

“Always.” Sherlock smirks, steps back, displays himself leaning against the brick wall with his thumbs in his belt loops and his hips cocked. His jeans are rolled up over black workman’s boots, the look calculated and entirely a costume. But Mycroft has never needed assistance to read him as if he were naked. “Your money’s good as anyone’s,” Sherlock goads him. Mycroft raises an eyebrow. Something shifts and he goes darker, less brotherly. Sherlock has seen this shift before, and mentally congratulates himself.

"A carefully applied strike to the head, just so, would end your career," Mycroft pronounces mildly, but with that thin edge of threat that Sherlock can easily recognize in his brother's tone, an edge that has left many men feeling vaguely uneasy without knowing why after encountering the government man. He steps forward without any particular attempt to be predatory, but Sherlock nevertheless feels pinned. "Such a pretty face… now _open_."

Sherlock hesitates a beat, then parts his lips for neatly manicured fingers, rough as they violate his mouth and then yank his head to the side. The calculated grip takes control of his jaw, and he feels the sting of adrenaline in his veins. He’s just sucked a stranger's cock with this mouth. And Mycroft _watched_. After a few silent seconds he’s conscious of drool pooling under his tongue, the fact that he has _no_  idea what’s going to happen next.

Mycroft's grip tightens to the point of pain, and then he lets go. “There’s a car parked around the corner. Get in and wait for me,” he says, and then stalks in the opposite direction. For once, Sherlock does as he’s told. 


End file.
